


damn your love, damn your lies

by ifthat



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mutual Pining, Neighbors, Spanking, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 14:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17102429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifthat/pseuds/ifthat
Summary: “Of course you’d use your free time to go to the gym.”“Your idea of the best way to spend your free time is annoying your neighbors,” he laughs, dimples carved into his cheeks like marble.No, Louis likes to annoyHarry. Everyone else on this floor is just an unfortunate casualty.“No one has complained except for you,” Louis informs him smartly. Which is actually a good thing. If someone other than Harry had complained to him long ago, he would have unfortunately had to stop.





	damn your love, damn your lies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tilthesundies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tilthesundies/gifts).



> Hi tilthesundies, I chose your second prompt: the Neighbor AU. Some minor details have strayed, but I hope you can still enjoy this!
> 
> Thank you so much to my beta, [Katherine](https://maybe-jamesbond.tumblr.com), for providing such wonderful feedback and support! This wouldn’t have been possible without all your suggestions.

Down in the lobby Harry fetches his mail, sifting through catalogues and white envelopes to pick out what will end up forgotten on his counter and what will go directly into the waste bin. Sitting in a lounge chair to one side is Niall, on his phone, visibly resisting the urge to go upstairs and finish the second season of their latest infatuation— _The Great British Baking Show_. 

Usually they watched on Niall’s laptop, curled up in his bed, rooting for different contestants, until they realized Harry had a larger screen. One fit for the finale. 

Niall came over after making concrete plans and a promise not to binge watch through to next season, a devious grin on his face and cradling boxed wine close to his chest. Harry planned to meet him in the lobby since he was coming down anyway, but he must be taking longer than Niall anticipated, as he casts an impatient glance in his direction.

“Ready to get plastered?” Niall coaxes, pocketing his phone. 

“Exactly how much alcohol do you think is in that wine?” Harry questions dubiously. It can only have so much. 

The door to the lobby swings open, letting in two familiar faces. Perrie and her friend, Louis. Niall switches his attention from Harry to his neighbors. They come in, talking amongst each other, bringing with them an assortment of random items. 

Niall stares openly. If he means to be subtle, Harry has some news for him. Harry would nudge him out of it if he were a better friend but watching him fawn and drool is a lot more entertaining.

Perrie takes notice of him and offers a tiny smile. Harry returns it, gesturing to the bulky, compact speaker in her arms even though she seems to be handling it with ease. She declines politely, “We’ve got it, thanks Harry.” 

Louis, holding in one hand a leather briefcase which, if Harry assumes correctly, is one of those modern record players, pushes the button to signal the elevator. Swinging the briefcase in his hand carelessly, he waits, his curious stare moving from Perrie to Harry underneath a set of long eyelashes. They stand out more to Harry than the cord of brightly colored Christmas lights hooked over his shoulder. 

Even taking into consideration the fact that they live on the same floor, Harry has never really had a conversation with him. Not even meaningless small talk, the chance to do so never presenting itself.

The elevator opens and they step inside, out of sight. Safe from embarrassing himself any further, Niall gapes in awe. “Who was that?”

“Louis,” he answers after tearing apart all his junk mail and tossing it, nodding towards the staircase to get moving. “He lives on my floor.”

“Not him.” Niall follows. “The blonde, long hair. Did you see the muscles on her? Reckon she could lift me off the floor.”

Startled, Harry says, “Oh, you mean Perrie.” Then, he offers Niall a sympathetic, “She’s taken.”

“Tough.” He shrugs in understanding. “Here.” Niall shoves the box of wine into his hands, snatching his mail and hurrying ahead before Harry can protest. 

“Sneaky bastard,” he swears, loud enough to be heard.

“For making me wait!” He shouts back. “Should have never introduced you to the world of baking.”

An indignant noise rises in the back of his throat. 

“Only one of us actually bakes in their spare time,” Harry mutters in retaliation. It goes unheard.

 

Days later, Harry and Louis bump into each other as Harry rushes out of his flat.

Sarah, his assistant and ever so thoughtful, called him continuously until she managed to wake him up with the sound of his phone ringing to the god-awful beat of Marimba. After haphazardly taking a shower, dressing, and skipping breakfast, he’s only running thirty minutes late.

With Mitch there, there really is no reason for him to kill himself trying to make it out of his flat. The idea of piling so much work on both of them, though, leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

He walks faster with a determined gait, not really paying attention to his surroundings, his mind focused on getting to his car, when his shoulder hits someone hard. 

“Sorry, sorry. Are you alright?” Harry gasps, closing his hands around the man’s biceps to steady the slight waver in his stance, close to toppling over from the force of their impact. 

“If you wanted to get rough, you could have just said so,” Louis gripes, wincing. “Also, watch where you’re going.” 

Harry, shocked and amused, lets out a laugh. That wasn’t what he was expecting to come out from Louis’ mouth and it certainly does not soothe his concerns. 

“I swear I do. I’m running late to work. Are you okay, though?”

“Fine. Dizzy,” he remarks offhandedly, shrugging. Harry’s hands move in tandem. Louis squints at him, unconvinced. “You don’t seem to be in much of a hurry right now.”

He’s right. And, Harry realizes, he’s still holding onto Louis, hands cupping the toned skin of his biceps.

“I am.” He lets go, slowly distancing himself from his neighbor. 

“Uh-huh. Where do you work?” Louis asks abruptly, sweeping his fingers over his fringe, tucking a particularly lengthy strand behind his ear. 

“I own a repair shop for old cars. M’ a mechanic there,” he explains, pausing in his steps. “What about you? Always see you coming and going at odd hours.”

“You’ve noticed,” Louis points out, surprised. 

“Well–” First impressions are important. He rather not come across as a creep.

“I do,” Louis fills in a beat later, “have odd hours. My teaching schedule is hectic; I can barely keep up.” He then lifts his wrist, displaying the back. There’s no watch. Harry knows what he means nonetheless.

“Yes,” he exhales, walking backwards. He would appreciate it if he didn’t fall in front of his very attractive neighbor. “I really have to go.”

“Should fix your hair, though, not sure about where you put the clip.” Louis rests his back on the opposite wall.

Harry fusses with the clip in his hair, adjusting it until a look of satisfaction crosses Louis’ face. “Like that?”

“Perfect.” The corner of his lip lifts into a small smile, and then he disappears. Back into his apartment.

In the end, Harry is only forty minutes late to work. He counts that as a win.

 

Out on a late night grocery run to the store, Harry happens to run into Louis again. Standing in front of a display table full of sugary goods, holding a box of chocolate chip cookies in one hand and a container of raspberry scones in the other. 

As he approaches, Louis turns on instinct, a spark of recognition lighting his face. He asks, after a moment of hesitation, “Which one would you prefer as a treat?”

Harry clues in. Remembers their conversation from before. “Is this for your class?”

Louis nods. “They did so well in their latest exam, I think they deserve a small reward. And I’m shit at baking. And cooking, so.”

Harry smiles, finding that incredibly sweet and thoughtful of Louis. His students must adore him. “Chocolate chip cookies. A raspberry scone feels too much like breakfast.”

“That is true. Our class does start in the afternoon,” he observes as he puts the scones back in place and picks up two more boxes of cookies instead, stacking and resting them on his chest for support. No shopping cart or basket in sight. “Thanks for your help. I’ll be sure to mention you in class.”

He leaves much like the other day, except this time, he throws a wave over his shoulder. It also might be the middle finger. 

Harry still needs to get his tea.

 

Coming home from hanging out at Mitch’s house where they fucked around with his new electric guitar, Louis is the first thing Harry sees. Wearing a velvet blue jacket and a thick black scarf, his hands shake as he takes out his keys from within the depths of his fitted trousers. 

Harry wonders if the jacket is restricting his movements. It swallows his torso in a bundle of puffy fabric. He looks cozy and small. Someone could comfortably use his chest as a pillow. He slots the key into the knob, revealing a fit, brown haired man on the other side. Maybe the man is his someone.

“Liam, thank God. I’m fucking freezing,” he curses, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his jacket. All the same, he manages to convey his appreciation with a long hug. “You turn on the heating?” 

They slip into Louis’ flat, so Harry is unable to listen in any more. He really should stop doing that. Especially out in the open, where people can spot him easily.

Prying his eyes away, his phone starts to vibrate in his pocket with a series of messages. It turns out to be Niall, yelling about some guy he just met at a pub that sings wicked good and that Harry has to come down there to give him a listen. 

Nothing if not indulgent toward Niall, he heads inside his flat to change into something more decent for a night out.

 

After settling down in his seat at a reserved table, he notes the lad on stage is halfway through the setlist he was sent in a picture.

“Incredibly talented, I’m telling you. Originals only, no covers,” Niall whispers, holding out a beer. Harry takes it, though he finds the taste disgusting. One will do anyway, he still has his car to drive back home.

“Very emotional. What’s his name again?” He asks, lowering his voice. 

“Shawn,” Niall enlightens him. “We could totally bond over our love for playing guitar.”

“Did you invite me over so I can watch you pull?”

“You think so little of me. I invited so you could _help_ me pull,” he scoffs. “Shut up. I’m trying to listen.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry focuses to the singer on stage, quietly enjoying the rest of the set. The man finishes two or three songs later. He thanks the crowd for sticking around and vanishes backstage.

“I’m going to invite him to have a drink with us,” Niall declares, draining the last of his beer. 

“Are you allowed to go backstage?” Harry frowns. 

After a suspicious lapse of silence, he answers with a simple, “No.”

“What the fuck, Niall? Just wait for him to come back out,” he hisses. Not that he knows much about how night clubs operate, but he does know a bad plan when he sees one. Also, the backstage entrance is being blocked by two large guards.

“I don’t want to wait!”

“I don’t want to get kicked out of here because you want to suck his dick.” Harry grabs Niall by the arm, forcibly pulling him towards the bar, away from their reserved table that is too close to the front stage to be an accident. 

“It’s more than that,” he defends feebly. 

Harry flags down the bartender and while he waits to for his turn to order, he turns to Niall. “You are absolutely ridiculous.”

Niall, somehow, manages to look like he agrees and has been incredibly offended. “Fuck off. I saw the way you were staring at that bloke the other day. The one with. You know.” He makes an aborted gesture with his hand. 

Harry has no fucking idea what he’s on about. “Who? This is the first time we’ve been out together in ages.”

“The one with the massive bum.” From that description, Harry knows exactly who Niall is recalling. 

“My neighbor,” he supplies. Niall nods vigorously.

“Yes, him. He was exactly your type.” His voice grows with accusation. “You stared the poor lad down. It was weird, mate.”

“It was a perfectly normal stare.” When the bartender comes around, Harry orders Niall a sour, vodka cocktail, knowing he prefers beer, just for that comment. Pineapple juice and a bottle of water for himself.

“You see him anywhere?” Niall takes a forced sip from his drink. 

“No.” Harry licks pineapple juice from his thumb when someone knocks into his side after sitting beside him too roughly. Doesn’t take notice of it until he hears a familiar voice speak up. 

“Piña colada, shot of tequila, and a whiskey. Neat, please,” Louis lists off in quick succession, managing to catch the bartender on his first try. It’s very impressive. 

He hasn’t taken notice of him yet, so he nudges him gently. “Is that all for you?” 

“Harry.” Louis’ shoulders rise up surprise. Turning in his bar stool, knees knocking into Harry’s thigh, he explains, “The piña colada is for me. My friends wanted me to get their drinks so they could have an early makeout session in the bathroom.”

Harry gestures to Niall, understanding him all to well. “Niall is in a similar situation. Except he has no one to make out with. We’re looking for the singer, did you happen to see him?”

“Shawn? He’s probably backstage.” Louis nods to a familiar door with a sign that reads _Employees Only_.

Niall worms his way into the conversation. “I was trying to sneak in there, but H stopped me.”

Louis pulls a disappointed face at Harry. His hair is styled now, fringe artfully falling across his forehead and sticking up in wispy strands. “How could you get in the way of true love?”

“True love,” Harry repeats skeptically. 

Niall nods. “Exactly.”

“Your friend is in love. He needs your support.” Louis’ mouth sharpens into a smirk.

The corners of Harry’s lips turn up unwillingly. “I give him plenty.”

Louis levels him a look, playfully unconvinced, just as the bartender arrives with his order, arranging three drinks in front of him. Louis grabs his and gestures Niall back into the conversation, attention having drifted to the room again. 

Harry doubts he’ll find him by chance. Even if Shawn did come back, the club is far too crowded.

“Mate, I have a plan,” Louis starts, swirling his finger through the white, overflowing foam of his drink. He sticks his finger into his mouth, sucking lightly, cheeks hollowed attractively. “I’m somewhat of a matchmaker, you see.”

“What is it?” Niall presses. 

“Stop encouraging him,” Harry says, but he kind of wants to know what Louis has up his sleeve; he has a draw to him that Harry seemingly is unable to resist. 

“Quit your whining now, because this involves you,” Louis locks his bright, blue eyes with Harry, swimming with mirth, “sneaking backstage with me.”

Like an idiot, Niall agrees for him.

“What has this got to do with me? Niall is the one who wants to chat him up,” he counters.

“Niall looks nothing like Shawn,” Louis emphasizes like he should know this, “and you do.” 

Niall nods, like he knew this, too. Common knowledge. The traitor. “Both of you have got those luscious curls.”

That alone won’t get him in, much less Louis, but Niall looks hopeful and tends to get cranky when things don’t pan out his way. Harry can’t say no to him.

“Do you really think security is that lax?” Halfway convinced already. 

“Yes,” Louis insists, offering Harry the pineapple slice wedged into the rim of his cup after licking his lips. Harry takes it and bites into the sweet fruit. “Worst case scenario: we get thrown out.”

“Is this how your fun night out usually tends to end?” Harry laughs. Seems like it, given how Louis treats the idea of potentially being banned from an establishment.

He answers with a mischievous smile, lifting his shoulders in a carefree way, an answer in itself. 

“Please, Harry,” Niall pleads. “In case he doesn’t come out. I doubt he is.”

“Okay,” he relents, pulling at his lip. “Yeah.” 

“Have to put on that Canadian accent, though.” Louis purses his lips thoughtfully. “We’ll just make sure they don’t ask you too many questions.”

He grimaces, searching his mind for what that might sound like. “Poutine”, he drawls carefully. 

“God, too bad we can’t work on that.” Louis bursts into giggles. Harry watches the way he uses his hands to talk, how expressive he is. “That was terrible. Poutine?” 

“Hey,” Harry says with a barely contained smile, “m’ trying my best.”

“I’m sure you are. Niall, darling, watch my drinks for me,” he requests sweetly, tipping the last of his drink towards his mouth, throat working to swallow the icy concoction. The stubble leading down the underside of his jaw to his neck looks inviting, begging to be touched. 

He brings down the glass; Harry lets out a discreet sigh. 

“Once my friends are done shagging in the bathroom, they’ll look for me. Liam looks like he could bench press you and Zayn looks like a model. Possibly an angel. Possibly both. Tell them I’m off to do better things with my time.”

“Got it. Now go.” Niall gives them both a thumbs up. 

 

Approaching the backstage entrance, Louis whispers to him, “Put your arm around me. We have to make it seem like you want to fuck me backstage.”

When he puts it like that, how is Harry supposed to say no? Placing his hand on the small of his back, inching towards his ass with the intent to grab it, he asks, “Is that okay?”

Louis’ breath sharpens. “Yes.”

His ass is firm and round under the width of his palm and he’s content to let it sit there when Louis stops. “Wait.”

Dragging him over to a concealed corner, by the emergency exit, Louis unbuttons Harry’s shirt with resolve, offering no explanation, nimble fingers revealing inches of skin from his chest to his navel. He appears pleasantly surprised at the display of his tattoos. “A butterfly?”

“Moth,” Harry corrects, grabbing his wrists before he gets the idea to undress him completely. He’d very much like to keep his trousers on his legs. 

Harry stares Louis down, deciding to untuck his top from his high waisted jeans, tugging the collar of his shirt to the side so his shoulder peeks through. Still not enough, it seems, because they both linger, trying to figure out what else can sell the idea. 

Louis’ lips are pink, soft and inviting. Have been since Harry stared too hard as he swallowed his drink.

Harry could fit his mouth to them, a few seconds would do. “I could– I could kiss you,” Harry suggests quietly, one that would be lost in the mass of people talking over each other if it weren’t for their close proximity. So close, Harry can feel Louis’ hot breath washing over his neck. 

“You could.” Louis sways forward. 

Urged with the desire to hold Louis tighter, Harry allows himself to do just that. No one is stopping him, not Louis, whose opinion is the only one he cares for right now. His thumbs caress the delicate structure of Louis’ wrists.

Louis swipes his tongue across his lips looking at Harry’s and that’s all the push he really needs, bending his knees a bit as Louis stands on his tiptoes, mouths meeting. They pull away at the same speed they drew in, Harry’s heart in his throat, wanting more and by the expression on Louis’ face, he would gladly take whatever Harry gave him. 

“One more thing,” he says, cupping the side of Louis’ neck, using his thumb to tilt his chin up, biting on Louis’ lower lip until it flares red with hurt. Louis whimpers, clears his throat, uses his hands planted firmly on Harry’s chest to push away and nod decisively. 

“That should–” he breathes out slowly, cheeks flushed. “That should do it.”

“Yeah.” He swipes a hand through the curls sticking to his forehead, hot in the small space they confined themselves in, stealing another glance in Louis’ direction. 

He looks good when he’s been kissed. Harry allows himself to imagine what he would look like if they kept going. “You look–” he rasps harshly.

“I do,” Louis acknowledges, marching ahead. Toward the backstage entrance without warning, giving him no time to adjust his trousers, but he supposes that’s the look they’re going for. “Niall needs us.”

Niall. He completely forgot, he’s a terrible friend. 

“Where are you going?” The security guard grunts when Louis does his best to shove past him. 

“Where do you think, mate?” 

“Backstage is for performers and employees only,” the guy drones on monotonously.

Louis crosses his arms. “What kind of business are you running here if you don’t know who your main act is?”

Panic colors the security guard's face, nervously flicking his attention to Harry. “Are you Shawn Mendes?”

“Yes.” The shorter his responses are, the higher the chance they have at sneaking in. “And I’d like to go backstage.” Possessively digging his fingers into either side of Louis’ waist, Harry flattens his lips into a thin line, appearing impatient. Louis follows his lead with ease, comfortably tucking into his embrace.

“Of course, sir.” He ushers them in, awkwardly shuffling to the left. “Go right in.”

Louis guides him inside, pressed to him from head to toe. He fits perfectly, small enough for Harry to be able to rest his head atop his hair. 

Inside, Harry realizes he has no idea what to look for. Reluctantly, he untangles himself from Louis. “That was… insanely easy.”

“Told you it would be,” Louis sniffs. “Some of us have actually experienced the world.”

“Now it’s shared experience.” Harry casts his gaze around. “We should find his dressing room. Is there a dressing room?”

“There should be,” Louis says.

“Does it still hurt?” Harry asks after Louis absently sucks his lip into his mouth.

Louis pouts as he tries his luck with the first door to their left. “Yes. You animal.”

Harry does not feel as bad as he should. “It was for good cause.”

“If it was anything, it was a seven,” Louis acquises, walking ahead far too confidently. Harry hovers behind. One of them has to make sure they don’t get caught.

“What was?” Harry asks dumbly.

They take a few turns to avoid crew members, searching for any indication of a dressing room. 

“The kiss. It was a seven out of ten,” Louis hums. 

Harry can tell he’s being blatantly lied to. “Felt like an eleven.”

The nightclub is a small venue, so they circle around. Most entrances are either locked or open storage rooms.

“You kissed me, so I get to decide how it felt.” Louis stops at an unmarked door. The handle turns, a makeshift dressing room coming into view. 

“What’s Niall’s number?” Louis finds a crumpled napkin and a black marker on the vanity, quickly scribbling down Niall’s number after Harry hands him his phone, a cheeky call me in cursive, and a kiss. 

“How do you propose it could have gone better?” They may or may not have invaded someone’s privacy. Harry finds their kiss a more pressing matter.

“Have to figure that out yourself.” 

As they sneak out a different entrance, Harry crowds Louis from behind. “Baby, I was there, too. I know you liked it.”

Louis melts. “Doesn’t mean a thing.”

“I’ll do better next time,” Harry murmurs into his ear, squeezing his hips, soft and malleable under his hands, as a promise. 

They find Niall in the company of two other men, drinking rounds of near-empty beers. From the way Louis crashes into the burlier of the two, it’s safe to say they’re Louis’ friends. Their touch is familiar. And so is one of the two men.

“Liam!” Louis shouts, smacking a kiss to his cheek and then one on who Harry assumes is Liam’s boyfriend, Zayn. 

“Babe,” Zayn says, happy to see Louis by the look on his face. 

“You two took so long.” Niall nurses his empty pint to his face, condensation smearing across his cheeks. “Decided to invite Liam and Zayn to a couple of pints. Soothe my broken heart.”

All three of them are proper drunk. 

“We didn’t find Shawn,” Harry says. Niall’s face falls and Louis smacks Harry on the arm. 

“What Harry means to say is we didn’t find him, but we did leave him your number,” Louis coos, rubbing Niall’s shoulder soothingly. “Best we could do, mate.”

“More than enough for me,” Niall cries, pulling Louis in for a hug. 

“What about me?” Harry protests. “I helped. I was the face of this mission.”

“Narcissist,” Louis mumbles, sharing a chair with Niall, precariously placed on the edge. Harry has touched his bum, doesn’t quite fancy seeing it hurt. 

“This is Harry, by the way.” Louis gestures to him. “Harry, that’s Liam and that’s Zayn.”

After a round of hand shaking, they decide to stick around until closing time. Eventually, Harry steals an empty chair that Louis shares with him by sitting on his lap even though there are plenty available. Harry is uncomplaining and is wise not to bring it to his attention.

 

Parked outside the back of the building, Louis untucks his knees from his chest, rubbing at the scruff on his jaw. “You didn’t have to do that, Harry.”

“It wasn’t much. We live in the same building.” Harry cuts off the engine. 

“Liam and Zayn don’t. Neither does Niall. Wouldn't have been able to handle my idiots alone.” Reaching over the console, Louis places a small kiss to the corner of his lip. He tastes like pineapples and smells like the cigarette he was smoking on the way. “Thank you.”

He whispers, “You’re welcome.”

Doesn’t really want to let go of Louis just yet. Without overthinking, he murmurs, “Come here.”

There’s no hesitation in Louis’ movements as he deftly climbs over the console, shuffling into place. His arms wrap around Harry’s neck as he leans down for a scorching kiss, teeth sharp on his lower lip. It stings. Harry thinks this is revenge for what he did in the nightclub. 

To savor the taste of Louis’ mouth on his, Harry slows him down. Palms gliding underneath his shirt, touching the expanse of smooth skin available to him, Harry flicks his nipple, pinching and pulling until the bud is sore. “Being mean on purpose, baby?”

Louis makes a pained noise. He isn’t really listening, though, keeps trying to grind his arse down on his half hard cock. 

Impatient little thing. Harry wants to see how far he can drag this out.

He soothes Louis’ nipple with his thumb, Louis’ eyelids fluttering through the sensation. “Fuck,” Louis whines. Harry need. Rolling his top under his armpits, Harry kisses at his chest, smooth under his lips. 

“My cock, it hurts,” he whimpers, one hand traveling south to palm at his cock, trapped under the rough denim of his jeans. Harry finds it unfortunate that he still has them on. 

“Let me see it, baby,” Harry says. Louis’ cock is going to be perfect, Harry knows. Just as perfect as the rest of him. 

After unbuttoning his jeans, Louis pulls the waistband of his briefs down, squirming under Harry’s hot gaze. “Stop looking at it so much.” 

“Why?” Harry takes Louis’ cock and balls in hand. Needy little cock, dripping wet. He tugs at the foreskin until the head peeks through and thumbs over the slit again and again. 

“Looks small in your hands,” Louis huffs, flushed pink. Hiding his face in Harry’s neck, he nips at his shoulder, sucking hard. Leaving a definite mark. 

“No, it looks like it wants to come,” Harry pants. Placing his other hand at the small of his back, he continues to touch Louis through his sweet, breathy moans. “Move your hips.”

Louis fucks up into his hand on command. His movements are cramped, the amount of space they have in the car little to none. “What about you?” He gasps. Sheen of sweat highlighting his cheekbones. Harry would like to lick him all over until he cries, wad of tears clumping his eyelashes together. 

“Worry about me later.” Harry squeezes Louis’ dick pointedly. He’s thinking way too much. Harry tugs his dick forward, letting go to watch it slap back against his tummy.

“Fuck, fuck,” Louis hisses, closing his eyes. Gorgeous response. 

“There you go,” he groans as he slides his hand lower so he can rub at his perineum. Harry’s dick throbs in his trousers, Louis’ ass a continuous pressure against him. “Want to finger you, baby.”

“Christ, yeah,” he begs desperately, moving to tug his trousers to his knees. Harry helps him so he can grab two handfuls of his ass, squeezing and molding the firm flesh to his liking. Louis arches into his touch, muttering, “Lube, lube.”

Harry lifts his hips to fumble for his wallet, taking out a small sachet of lube from one of the slots. Louis dumps his wallet in the passenger seat, grumbling, “How many have you fingered in this car, huh?”

“Just you,” he promises with the truth as he rips open the packet, coating his fingers until they’re slick. He presses two between Louis’ cheeks, firmly massaging his rim. Groaning when Louis’ hole twitches at the touch. 

“Good,” Louis sighs as he pushes back. “Fuck me.”

“Say please.” Harry teases the pad of his finger inside. 

“Please,” he mewls, brushing a hand through his curls, “please, Harry.”

“Good boy,” he says, fucking his index finger into Louis’ hole and grunting at the tight fit. He can only imagine how Louis would feel around his cock, but he knows his imagination will never live up to the real thing. 

“Don’t,” Louis says, “I’m going to come. I don’t want– not yet.”

“Don’t what? Call you a good boy?” Harry smirks and manages to fit in a second finger beside the first, working both in and out.

“Yes,” Louis exhales, rotating his hips, trying to fuck down on his fingers. “Can I touch you now?”

Harry nods, watching Louis’ shaky fingers unravel his belt, his fly, reaching into his briefs to pull his cock out. Having Louis’ fist close around him is heaven. The way his hand looks and feels on his cock, rubbing the head and squeezing the base. 

“Feels good,” he pants, guiding Louis into a languid kiss, fucking his tongue inside wet and messy. Louis’ hand is too small to get a good grip around both of their cocks, Harry finds when he tries. Uses both instead, jerking them off at the same time. 

Harry can tell neither of them are going to last any longer, so he slips his fingers in deeper, to the knuckle, placing pressure on Louis’ prostate. 

“I’m coming,” Louis whispers to him and he does, cock spitting come all over his fist and Harry’s cock. Harry coaxes his fingers out of him and pets his hole through it. Wraps his hand over Louis’ fist circling him loosely, stroking until he comes, aiming his cock so it coats Louis’ stomach. 

Louis and Harry comfortably settle back after wiping away what they can with his shirt, none too eager to leave even though the car is hot and smells like sex. 

 

The walk to the front of the building is shared with knowing smiles, leaning against each other as they cuddle through the cold. 

 

Louis is everywhere and then, he’s not. 

He drops by Louis’ flat to ask for his number. He realized he didn’t have it when he scrolled through his contact list the morning after. Harry wants to take him out on a date. Anything. 

He guesses Louis is not home after waiting around with no response. 

Harry purposefully lingers as he comes and goes through the building. He takes the elevator instead of the stairs. He checks his mail every day, something he never used to do before. Even goes with Niall to the nightclub.

They’ll see each other soon. 

 

Soon extends through to a week and then a few more days.

 

Mitch puts away the last resume. Stores it inside a cabinet in a file with the rest and subtly blocks the drawer by rolling his chair in front of it. Harry suggested running through them again, so it’s probably a wise choice. 

“Who is it gonna be, then?”

“Leigh-Anne, like you said.” He runs his hand through his hair in frustration. “Or should we go with Alex?” 

Earlier, they decided to stay overtime to come to a mutual decision on who to hire. Harry is having a hard time finalizing his choice. 

“Your call.” Mitch smirks.

If Harry stares at the ceiling hard enough, it might supply him the right answer. “Our call,” he corrects. “Leigh-Anne. She has the most experience. Cars and motorcycles; we can appeal to a new base of clients.”

“There it is. Good choice, H.” He pats his cheek affectionately. “I’ll send her an email offering her the job.”

Harry stretches and gathers his things, more than ready to call it a day. Being stuck in an office is not something he’s used to. “Let me know her response.”

“Will do.” Mitch leads the way out the main entrance, waiting for Harry to lock up. “Hey, I have a friend who needs a date for a wedding. Want to join him?”

Harry scrunches his nose, gravel crunching under the weight of his boots as they walk. From a distance, he can see his car, a stark reminder of what happened. “I met someone, actually. Not that long ago.”

“Can I know who this someone is?” Mitch asks curiously. 

“His name is Louis.” Harry tamps down his smile, thumbing directly over the bruise he discovered on his shoulder—in the shape of a mouth. It’s unfortunately fading away. Mitch has to nudge him to go on. “He’s really pretty.”

“So descriptive,” he teases. “I feel like I know him already.”

Sighing contentedly, breath coming out in a cold puff of air, he shrugs. He fears that talking about Louis will jinx what they have. Fragile and new. “I like him, okay?”

“Looks like it, too,” Mitch points out.

 

Harry loves the Arctic Monkeys. Big fan. Not when it wakes him up at two in the morning, though. 

Annoyed, he walks to his kitchen, sleep clinging to his eyes, and boils a pot of water to make himself a cup of tea. Waiting proves to be pointless. Two cups of tea later and now Ariana Grande is playing.

He slips on a pair of shorts and a sweater to venture outside, wandering down the hall until he figures Louis’ flat is the source of the loud music. Fuck. This is not how he wanted to see Louis again, as much as he would like to. His appearance, for one, could be better. He knows for a fact that he looks a mess. The whole situation, again, could be better. 

Harry deliberates leaving. Ignoring the problem altogether. 

Louis will understand, he reasons. Lightly knocking, Harry waits, coming up with a various scenarios to ask Louis to turn it down wherein Louis does not despise him for ruining his fun. 

He really should have let it go. 

The door opens shockingly fast, revealing Louis on the other side. Sleep soft in a shirt that is intentionally a few sizes too large for his slight frame, eyes entirely too blue under the poor shading of the hallway. His thighs are bare; if he has anything on underneath, Harry has no way of knowing, but his mind is running wild with the idea. Snapping out of his stupor, he focuses. That’s enough of that. 

“Hey,” he greets hoarsely, unprepared. 

Louis makes a soft noise. “You came.”

Right away, Harry can tell Louis is tipsy. His accent is thicker on his tongue, words slurring together. Looking past him into his apartment, he can see a record player connected to a speaker and a half empty bottle of champagne resting on the floor of his living room.

“I did–” Harry pauses. _You came_ rings in his head. 

The possibility that Harry’s feelings for Louis are mutual rushes through him in a burst of hope. He worried Louis was going out of his way to avoid him. “Were you expecting me?”

“No,” Louis denies, somewhat breathless. He sways, reaching his hand out to fist the framing for balance. “I was just– thinking. Because of how loud it is.” 

“I don’t mean to interrupt.” Undeterred, he grasps Louis’ elbow with one hand. Making sure he stays upright. “But I can hear it from my flat.”

“Is that all?” Louis snaps, squirming his arm from Harry’s grip and turning his back to lie on his couch. He sniffles, burying his face into his body pillow. “If it is, I’ll turn it off. You can go.”

He has no idea what just happened or what Louis could be mad at him for. At the very least, one of his neighbors was going to complain about the noise. 

“No,” Harry rushes to say to salvage the situation. Gently, he suggests, “You could just lower the volume.”

“Hm.” Louis nods, closing his eyes. Paying him no real attention.

“Louis?” He whispers. “Lou?” Nothing. Louis’ breath evens out and the record forwards to the next song. 

At a loss for what to do, Harry silently closes the door. Refuses to leave it wide open. Pressing his forehead to the cool surface, he burns the image of Louis stretched out along his couch into his mind. 

 

Around four, the muffled noise comes to a halt.

 

Later that morning, Harry stops by for coffee on his way to work. He texts Mitch and Sarah to let them know, get their orders, and arrives to the two clustered in the office, waiting for Harry to open up shop. 

“You look miserable,” Mitch notes, taking the cup Harry hands him. “Thanks.”

“Knackered,” he grunts, curling up as much as he can on a stiff guest chair. His back protests, but he ignores it, resting his legs on another chair. “Louis.”

“Lad he likes,” Mitch explains to Sarah’s inquisitive stare. “Pretty, he says.”

Louis _is_ pretty. 

Harry closes his eyes. He could fall asleep if he didn’t have an entire day of work weighing on his shoulders. “And a menace. Forgot to include that. He played music throughout the whole night.”

“Did he?” He snorts, laughing quietly into his coffee.

“He was tipsy and fell asleep while I was telling him, too.” An endeared smile plays on his lips. He’s not sure Louis will remember what he did, but Harry will. “God, why do I like him so much? I’m sure he hates me now.”

“What for?” Sarah pries, sat on Mitch’s lap. Harry has never been jealous of what they have, but he is now. Harry wants that. Someone to hold on his lap, cuddle close to his chest. 

Louis. He wants Louis.

“I went to his flat unannounced. Is that considered rude, do you think?” Harry expresses his concern, searching for an explanation. 

“No,” Sarah eventually voices. “You had to let him know somehow.” 

Harry nods in relief, though it doesn’t explain why Louis was so mad at him.

 

“Not again.” The sound of his voice is rough. Caught in a restless state, has been for awhile. The upbeat song continues to travel through his walls, pulling a low groan from his chest and past his throat. The warmth of his comforter is not enough to lull him back to sleep.

Rules for excessive noise are useless. Without opening his eyes, Harry reaches his arm out, searching for his phone, hand clumsily fumbling over the bedside drawer until he finds it. 

He squints. The lock screen reads two forty two. Pushing the covers off his body, he rubs his face in a poor attempt to appear more awake. 

 

Standing in an empty hallway at three in the morning has slowly become a part of his routine. 

The door opens deliberately slow after Harry raps his knuckles against the wood. So slow that his patience starts to wane. That is, until Louis comes into view. Harry takes him in, gorgeous as ever. Disruptive as ever.

“Yes?” Asks Louis, placing his hands on his hips. 

“Louis.” Harry frowns tightly. 

Louis mimics him. “Harry.”

“Why is the music so loud?” Straight to the point. 

“Uh,” Louis rolls his eyes, as if the answer is obvious. “We’re having a party.” 

“Dancing Queen just played three times in a row. That’s no way to throw a party,” he retorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Have some variety. Fleetwood Mac, if you will.” 

“Fleetwood Mac?” Louis repeats, baffled. “How old are you?”

Harry’s mouth falls open. He doesn’t know whether to feel insulted or laugh. He answers honestly, “Twenty-four.”

Louis increases the sound of his voice. Music and people alike growing louder as the song changes. Looking past him, disgruntled, Harry surveys the cluster of groups dancing and drinking. Louis rests a hand on his tummy, gesturing to himself. “Twenty-six. Older than you, so please show some respect.”

“All I want,” Harry says, “is for you to turn down the music.”

He presses his lips together, vaguely annoyed. “Suppose I have to, otherwise I’m afraid you’ll call our landlord. I’ll just blame you when everyone starts revolting.”

Louis disappears into his flat. The room is much too dark for Harry call him back to let him know he would never involve their landlord. Harry finds it important that Louis knows that much. 

He returns, having taken far too long to be considered normal. “There, is that okay?”

No. Absolutely not, because nothing has changed. 

“Want to know what I think?” Harry places his hand on the frame, leaning in so Louis can hear him. “I think you’re being difficult on purpose.” 

“Am not,” Louis breathes, lying. No attempt to appear honest. Their faces are suddenly that much closer, Harry guesses he went up on his tiptoes.

Harry stares at his lips. Always moving, constantly snapping back. Harry can think of other ways he could put his mouth to use. “You are.”

“Come inside. Turn it down yourself,” Louis challenges, voice sultry. Enticing.

Before either of them can make another move or say anything else, Liam appears behind Louis, arm curling around his waist. Liam glances at Harry, offering a wide smile. “Harry. Are you going to come in? There’s plenty of booze and snacks to go around.”

Louis explains, “We need to turn the music down. Too loud.”

“I’ll turn it down,” Liam says. “Sorry. Louis is a lot of trouble when he wants to be, isn’t he.”

Not so much a question so much as a statement of fact.

Harry nods as Louis bites out, “I am right here! This is my party, not your’s to do as you please.”

“Thanks,” he says to Liam without really paying him any real attention, focus glued to Louis, who's making an effort to remove Liam’s hand. The hem of his shirt lifts, revealing the curve of his stomach, his bellybutton. Louis shoves his shirt down and gives up, pouting.

Harry could stay here and watch him, just to see what else he would do, and never get bored.

He leaves shortly after, however, with a promise from Liam that it won’t happen again and the weight of Louis’ gaze following him until he’s well within the walls of his flat. 

 

The morning after his party, Louis wakes curled up tight in his bed, willing his crush on Harry to go away. Weeks have gone by and all he can think about is how it felt to sit on Harry’s lap, the sure way he was held. Moaning into his sheets, he forces his body to move, immediately spotting a glass of water on his nightstand. 

Liam, such a good friend. He drinks, throat sore from yelling last night.

“Fuck Harry,” Louis mutters and untangles himself from his sheets to wander into the living room. Liam isn’t there but he's in the kitchen, sat at his table eating french toast. 

“Liam!” Louis shouts, startling him, milk spilling down the front of his shirt. He giggles when Liam glares, wiping at his mouth while Louis fixes himself a plate.

“Could you stop doing that?” He whines miserably.

Louis declines gracefully, “There’s no fun in that. Where is Zayn?”

“At the studio. We’re going to order take out at his, if you want to join. So,” he begins innocently, “I saw you talking to Harry.”

“He came over for, what, a second?” Louis has more important things to do in his life that pine over beautiful, tall, curly haired idiots. Like mark papers. He tries to steer the subject away from Harry to no avail.

“Spent an awful long time talking to him. Looked a lot like flirting to me.” He levels Louis with a smug smile. “Just tell him you like him.” 

Louis opens his mouth to disagree, but he’s terrible at repressing his feelings. “It’s like he completely forgot about that night!”

“To be fair to him, you haven’t mentioned anything either.” Liam shrugs. Louis glares at him for the lack of blind support on his behalf. 

“Are you on his side or mine?” 

“He did buy us a round of drinks.” Liam pretends to think, giving in when Louis reaches out to tickle his neck. “Your side! I was joking.”

“Your birthday is coming up, isn’t it?” Louis waves around a forkful of french toast, popping it into his mouth shortly after. The food tastes amazing. He forgot what it was like to be roommates with Liam after he moved in with Zayn. “How are you celebrating?”

“Me and Zayn are going to prepare a dinner with his family–”

“On the exact day? Make sure it is. I’m going to throw you a birthday party on that weekend.” Louis pats Liam’s shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

“Oh good, I’ll be so surprised,” he mutters sarcastically. “Wait, wait. Are you using me to plan a party?”

Louis averts his gaze, an incredulous noise escaping him. “No, it’s because I love you.”

“I don’t see why you can’t just ask him out on a date like a normal person.”

“He could ask me, like a gentleman. But I have to do all the work,” Louis grumbles.

 

“Louis.” Perrie inspects the damage his recent shipment has caused. 

She raises a clear bag of gummies shaped like dicks to eye level. They’re terrifyingly accurate. Louis managed to find various phallic shaped sweets in an assortment of lollipops, chocolates, and hard candies, now scattered all over his kitchen table inappropriately. “Louis.”

“Hm,” Louis murmurs, distracted, intensely focused on his phone, head propped up on his body pillow. 

“You do realize this is Liam’s 25th birthday and not some bachelorette?” She lifts his ankles, sitting in the empty space underneath his legs, poking the sensitive skin under his knee to grab his attention. 

“Yes, Perrie, I do realize my best friend is turning a quarter of a hundred years old.”

“Why would you phrase it like that?” Louis continues to type. “He’s either going to be really pissed or really pleased with your theme choice.”

“A fifty-fifty chance I’m willing to risk,” he sniffs. 

They both know it’s not one Liam would take, but that goes unsaid. Louis is willing to bet Liam won’t take a liking to his decorations until he’s well pissed. “We’re also celebrating Zayn and Liam hooking up and constantly making me their third wheel.”

“And a dick themed party is the way to celebrate that,” she fills in. 

“Now you’re getting it!” Louis grins happily. “There’s this guy I found on Craigslist. He’s willing to make me an ice sculpture and deliver it on time for the party.” 

“God, no.”

Louis tucks himself into her left side, barreling on. “Look, these are some of his works. Usually the bloke carves hearts, but says he’s totally up for the challenge.”

As much as this party is an elaborate plan to annoy Harry for ignoring him, he wants Liam to enjoy himself. Most of the party has been planned alongside Zayn anyway. He still hasn’t gotten a confirmation on the dick sculpture, but Louis is sure Zayn will agree.

Perrie takes his phone, scrolling through a few selected images. “I draw the line at giant ice shaped like cock.” 

“Party-planning decisions are up to me–” 

Perrie interrupts, “A position you gave yourself.”

“Which everyone should be grateful for, otherwise this party would be a disaster.” Louis rolls his eyes. “Also, it’s only sixty pounds.”

“Only?” She scoffs, shifting to grab Louis’ laptop. “I don’t know why I’m trying to convince you not to. You’re going to go ahead and buy it either way.” 

“Liam is going to love it.” Louis pockets his phone after confirming some important details. Perrie scrolls through the selection screen on Netflix. “Sometimes you have to do a little reckless spending. My mistakes, not that I think this is a mistake, are actually learning experiences.”

“Is this really about Liam?” The question is completely off topic. 

She definitely suspects there’s something else going on here other than him being the kind, caring friend that he is. “You like to throw a sick party, but even this is going a little far for you.”

“Who else would it be about?” Louis plays dumb. “I just want Liam’s weekend to be special.” There’s a hint of guilt in his tone he’s unable to disguise, which Perrie latches onto. She narrows her eyes at him. 

“This is about your thing for Harry.”

“No!” Louis lies. Like Liam, she’s able to pull the truth right from him. “Yes. Sort of. There’s just no _thing_ , there’s nothing there.” He does his best not to sound too annoyed about it. 

“Enough about Harry. Tell me, how’s Jade? She coming to the party?” It’s a sly move to divert Perrie’s attention to Jade. He only ever pulls that card in dire situations.

Always eager to talk about her girlfriend, the subject is dropped. For now. Louis has only met her girlfriend a handful of times, mostly because he met Perrie before meeting Jade. Found her down in the laundry room, sparked up a conversation about what kind of softener is best for delicates, and hit it off from there. 

“Jade is amazing. She’ll be there. You know how I told you she was struggling to make friends at work?”

He nods to encourage her, listening closely as she continues to tell him about Jade. Perrie looks absolutely in love. The two of them have been together since they were teenagers. They were bound to meet each other, having lived so close.

 

She calls it a night after receiving a message from Jade, home from a late shift. Louis walks with her, waiting until she disappears into the elevator. 

Must be nice coming home to someone, a particular living situation Louis has not had the comfort of in years. Never really worked for him the way it did for Perrie and Jade even though he gave it his all. 

He turns his head out of habit, drawn to the flat across his. He expects to find the hallway empty, as per usual this late at night, but his eyes find Harry instead. He looks tired and well-rested all at once, two facts that prickle his skin with undue jealousy.

Irrationally, his mind starts to wonder about all the people he’s led on and left to deal with the aftermath. Alone. Harry can do what he wants with who he wants. What he shouldn’t do is parade around in the hallway, where anyone with feelings can see him. 

Louis’ mind tries to find the logic in those statements and finds absolutely none.

Too curious for his own good, Louis is quick to fill in the silence, but Harry beats him to it, “Surprisingly quiet today.”

“I didn’t expect to see you wandering around this late at night. Considering your bedtime is at around eight. Nine, latest,” Louis shoots lightheartedly. 

“It’s not that late,” he reasons, fiddling with the keys in his hands. Stupidly big. Stupidly skilled. “Good time to go to the gym. It’s always empty.”

“Oh,” Louis murmurs to himself, relieved. It should have been obvious from the start. “Of course you’d use your free time to go to the gym.”

“Your idea of the best way to spend your free time is annoying your neighbors,” he laughs, dimples carved into his cheeks like marble.

No, Louis likes to annoy _Harry_. Everyone else on this floor is just an unfortunate casualty.

“No one has complained except for you,” Louis informs him smartly. Which is actually a good thing. If someone other than Harry had complained to him long ago, he would have unfortunately had to stop. 

“Light sleeper,” Harry explains. He continues, “Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

Louis perks up, nodding nervously. This is it.

“Remember Niall? Irish lad.” He does. Of course he remembers Niall.

“Shawn texted him,” Harry says. “He just wanted me to thank you. Says without you it would have been impossible.”

Louis bites his tongue as he visibly tries not to deflate. Disappoint settles low in his tummy even if he is happy for Niall. “Give him a big smooch on the cheek for me. Knew it was going to happen for him. Handsome lad.”

Harry smiles. “He’s a good one.”

 

_why won’t he ask me out_ Louis sends to the group chat during office hours. _HE fingered ME in his car!_ He adds for good measure.

A few students of his have dropped by for a visit, but the day has been slow going. While he waits for a reply, he goes over the notes he made for the reading due soon.

His phone buzzes on the desk, a message from Liam lighting up his screen, _mybe he’s dumb just like u and is waiting for u to ask him out_.

Makes a lot of sense. Louis has put off asking Harry out himself, too afraid of the answer. 

_Stared at your butt a lot_. Zayn informs him cryptically. Way more useful than what Liam sent. He does have a very nice bum. Harry seemed to think so when he used his fingers to get him off. Louis stops that train of thought as fast as it came. He does not need to handle a semi on campus.

_I am not dumb, I am shy_ Louis replies indignantly. 

_ur_ Liam responds. And then _u r_. 

_his cock. Big_ He retaliates.

Snickering, he messages Perrie afterward. She knows Harry, has for awhile. 

 

“Do you like it?” Louis proclaims when Liam and Zayn walk into his flat, arriving a little earlier than everyone else, along with Perrie and Jade, so they could celebrate privately before all the people they invited start to filter through. 

Zayn looks at Liam helplessly, nuzzling his shoulder as a sort of apology. 

“What is that?” Liam points at the wilting ice sculpture. The head is caved in sadly, slowly melting into a puddle of water inside its container.

“Decoration,” Louis grins. 

“For the record,” Zayn says, “I was not on board with that.”

Louis shushes him and hugs Liam, who returns his hug, a fond smile on his lips so he knows Liam is not really mad.

“You really went out of your way.” Liam picks up a lollipop shaped like a dick, turning it around. He starts to unwrap it, but Louis stops him. 

“Nonsense.” He takes the candy and places it back in the bowl. “There’s ice cream cake in the freezer.”

Zayn follows Liam into the kitchen while Louis sets up the speaker to his record player. He has to untangle the wires first after having shoved both into the closet. Bad idea.

“You could, you know,” Perrie sighs, “not do that.”

“It’s going to be a lame party without music.”

“You know what I mean,” she admonishes. 

“Yeah, Harry is really nice,” Jade pitches in. “He helped me start my car when it wouldn’t go in the morning.”

Sitting on the floor, Louis listens to Jade explain how it was that Harry helped her.

 

The party gets a little out of hand. Too many people in his flat. Not enough space. Where they all came from, Louis has no idea, but he lets them be. He locked his room hours ago. Walking to the living room takes effort, so he stays put, squeezing to the side of a couple making out on his couch. Gross. 

“I don’t think Harry is coming,” he sighs, loudly, in frustration. Checks his phone one more time, just to confirm he is reading the hour correctly. 

Liam stops kissing Zayn. “What?” Liam is going to pay for using his couch as a hook up spot. He used to do it all the time with Zayn even when he had a perfectly good room. 

“He usually comes around this time,” Louis continues sullenly, rolling his eyes at their display of affection.

“He’ll come,” Zayn says knowingly. “I would. How does your landlord put up with you?”

“She has a soft spot for me. And I bribed her with lunch.” 

“That explains it,” Liam mutters, shaking his head. 

Zayn gets off Liam, sitting between them so he can wrap an arm around Louis’ shoulder. “Do you want to talk about him, babe?”

“No, not really,” he murmurs, dejected. “Think I made have made something out of nothing. I should start to kick people out. Most didn’t even bring gifts. How rude.”

Liam reaches out to pat his knee. “It’s alright, love. You know I don’t care.”

“Well, I do,” Louis states, standing up, worming his way between furniture and people so he can turn on the lights and cut the music.

A girl follows him, making Louis pause, “Hey, Louis, right?” She has to yell over the music so Louis can hear her. Even then, Louis struggles to.

He nods, confused, until she elaborates, “Some guy is looking for you at the door. Looks pissed!”

“Thanks, I’ll deal with him,” Louis says and scurries to the mirror in his bathroom, pushing some guy out. His hair is fine, so he leaves it as it is, but he pulls down the scoop of his shirt and applies lip balm to his lips.

 

Harry does look pissed. Broad shoulders calmly propped up against the wall. When he speaks, his voice is much deeper than Louis has ever heard it. “Louis, what the fuck?”

“What?” Louis silently panics. Harry has never been this angry with him. Upset, yeah, but never to this extent. He tugs at his shirt anxiously, but stands his ground. 

“I thought I told you to keep it down,” Harry says. 

And it infuriates Louis. He has not right to order him around. He lost that privilege long ago.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” he snarls. The line of anger in Harry’s brow intensifies. Worrying at his lip, he raises an eyebrow, daring Harry to keep going.

“I’m not asking for much,” Harry responds lowly. He is. Louis wants to yell at him for being such a dick. For acting like he cared. He might have a good cry instead. Could be what he needs. 

“Have you considered fucking off?” He snaps, feeling embarrassed for trying to look pretty when all Harry wants is to tell him off for being a nuisance. 

Harry stalks closer, looming over him. The air grows warmer, the muffled sound of people and a low beat mingling in with their harsh breaths. Louis is forced to look up, feels unbearably powerless in his presence. 

“No,” Harry murmurs, “but I have thought about bending you over my knee. Do you think you would listen then, baby? After I make you.”

Louis swallows hard, heat rising to his face, gut clenching tight with desire. He hates how easily Harry can pull these reactions from him. Shoving at Harry’s shoulder, he angrily spits, “Lying. Calling me _baby_. I’m not yours.”

“Who says I’m lying?” Harry cages him up against the wall, hands firmly planted either side of his head, the length of his arms firm and strong.

“Show me you aren’t,” Louis demands, hands on Harry’s waist. Searching his eyes desperately, Louis finds Harry staring right at him. He yelps when Harry picks him up with a firm grasp on his thighs, kissing him hot and heavy, taking control of the pace. Louis tightens his thighs around Harry’s hips, dragging his hands through the curls on his head, tugging hard.

Louis doesn’t know how long they stay there, out in the hall, but he does know the mark on his shoulder throbs, and his lips feel sore from being thoroughly and slowly wrecked. 

“Not here,” Harry finally decides, setting him down on wobbly legs. “Want you all to myself.”

 

The inside of Harry’s room is dark, bed unmade. Louis stays standing on his feet even though his mind is telling him to crawl under the sheets and stay there for a very long time. 

“Do you have a safeword, Louis?” Harry asks, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. Louis moves to stand in front of him. 

Louis does not, but he knows the gist of what one means, so he says, after a moment of deliberation, “Garden.”

“Good boy,” Harry says, making Louis’ cock twitch with need. Just like that, two words. “I’m going to ask you something and I want you to tell me the truth.”

“Okay,” Louis murmurs, impatiently nodding; he feels the pace of the conversation is too syrupy slow for the tension in the room. Harry would beg to differ, would probably go on a tangent about safety and forget to spank Louis at all. Louis keeps his mouth closed as much as he would like to get on his knees right now.

“Do you want to do this?” Harry asks. 

He’s serious, which Louis finds annoying, but genuinely appreciates. He breathes, heart racing with anticipation, “Yes.”

“Take them off.” 

Holding back an embrassinging whine, Louis steps out of his shoes and trousers and holds them against his chest until Harry gestures to put them to the side. Unsure, he mumbles out, “Just– just the trousers?”

Harry himself is in briefs; the length of his cock bulging against the tight material. Louis really resents the fact that he didn’t get the chance to suck him off in the car, even though his mouth salivated at the thought of it on his tongue. 

“All of it,” Harry rumbles lowly. 

His pants go next, his shirt off to the side. Standing naked. Placing a delicate hand over his cock, he fidgets, it fattening up under Harry’s heavy lidded gaze. 

“You know I like it when I can see your dick, baby,” Harry sighs, patting his thigh. “Over my lap.”

Louis moves his hand for Harry to get his fill one last time before he bends over his lap. Warm, firm hand on his side and on his back, guiding him so the position is comfortable on his chest. “Gonna give you fifteen swats. Five for each time I wasn’t able to sleep.”

“Was it really my fault?” Louis whispers. Harry brings his hand down hard on his arse. Rocking away with a choked gasp, sheets clasped between his fingers, a small, pleased shudder runs through his body. 

 

“One extra for that comment.” Harry rubs his cheek, soothing the imprint of his hand almost possessively. 

There are no other words exchanged, just the sound of Louis’ ass being spanked, Harry alternating where he hits to get the best of him. Sometimes so quick and fast it burns. Neither of them are counting aloud and his mind is far too fuzzy to keep up with how many have gone by. It feels like an eternity. A small sob escapes his mouth, his ass stinging red with the pain.

Harry caresses down his thighs, over the curves of his ass, up his back. Louis’ thighs clench together expectantly. He knows what’s coming. 

Harry doesn’t let him have it. Shoves open his legs to fetch his cock instead, pulls it back. He squirms as Harry touches him from root to tip, wet fingers pinching the tip. Not wet with lube, but spit and his precome. That familiar ache in his stomach flares with shameful need. “Ah,” he moans. 

“Six more,” Harry lets him know, laying his hand down steady, ass bouncing with every slap. Unhurried as Louis whimpers through the last of them. 

Gently, Harry turns him around after he finishes, avoiding pressure on his sore bum, sweetly whispering, “Baby, you were so good for me.” Hands running up and down his sides as Louis curls into his chest, reduced to a quivering mess. 

“Please. Can I come?” Louis croaks, pushing his cock against Harry’s abs. 

“In my hand.” Harry cups his cock. It’s all the push he really needs, spurting come over his fist. His cock twitches weakly, which is when Louis realizes Harry is still hard underneath his thigh. Mustering the little strength left in him, he pushes Harry down to peel off his pants and bends down to press a kiss to the tip of his cock. 

“Let me get you off,” he breathes.

“Your bum,” Harry says, but Louis is already sucking, widening his mouth to accommodate the length, eliciting a groan from him. Harry feeds his cock in deeper. He can’t go all the way, though, he’s so big. Louis compensates by wrapping a hand around the base and stays put while Harry uses his mouth. “Fuck, baby.”

Mouth watering with the weight of cock on his tongue, Louis closes his eyes to fully immerse himself in the experience. He gags through a moan when Harry curls a gentle hand around the back of his head, fucking up slow and sure. He only pulls back for air when he absolutely needs to with a wet gasp.

Harry groans, “You’re so gorgeous.” He has short, sweaty curls sticking to his temples, his cheeks flushed pink. Louis silently preens at the praise as Harry traces the curve of his lips with his thumb. “I’m gonna come on that pretty face, baby.”

He replace his thumb with the tip of his cock, outlining the shape of Louis’ mouth, slipping it inside when Louis opens his mouth. Harry comes moaning Louis’ name, covering his face with it, leaving him filthy and debauched. 

“Stay here,” Harry says, using his shirt to wipe away the mess on Louis’ face. “Going to get lotion.”

The bed is more than comfy, so Louis stretches, lying on his side while he listens to Harry putter around in the bathroom. He eventually falls asleep after Harry massages the cool lotion into the tender skin of his bum.

 

When Louis wakes plastered to Harry’s back, warmth fills all the crevices of his body. By the sound of his heavy breathing, Harry is still asleep. Louis sneaks a kiss, places it on the broad expanse of his shoulders.

“That was cute.” Harry’s voice is raspy, exuding comfort. “Do it again?”

“No.” Louis bites him instead. Another bruise, just for Louis.

Harry turns, careful not to knock any elbows or knees, to cuddle Louis into his chest. “I regret not doing this ages ago,” he sighs. 

“Yeah?” Louis asks hesitantly.

“I want this. I want you,” Harry admits sincerely. 

Less insecure than ever before, he confesses, “I thought you were blowing me off. Felt that there was something between us in the car. At the bar. It was one night, I know, but–” 

“No, no,” he frets, cupping one side of his jaw, genuinely worried. Louis feels compelled to soothe him. But he waits for him to keep going, otherwise he’ll never know. “You were mad at me, so I thought you might need some time to cool off before I asked you anything. Thought I had a better shot if I did.”

Louis places his hand over the fine hairs dusting the center of Harry’s chest, groaning at his own stupidity. “I was mad at you, but I also may have overreacted.” He blushes, pulls the covers over his face.

“Hold on,” Harry laughs, soft, full of absolute joy. “Is that why you threw all those parties?”

“Of course not,” he mutters petulantly, though Harry has been a determining factor to his string of parties. The most important factor. “That is absolutely childish, which I am not.”

“No,” Harry agrees easily, peeling the covers away. The most fond smile on his lips. “You’re not.”

“Sappy,” Louis sighs as he kisses Harry. “I like it.”

“Baby, there’s a whole lot more of that to look forward to,” he adds. Louis wants to roll over on his stomach whenever Harry calls him that, which is way too much power for Harry to have over him but Louis doesn't mind one single bit. 

 

Louis and Harry step into the living room after Harry offers to cook a full English breakfast, allowing him to realize just how hungry he is. Walking carefully, he ignores the dull throb each step pulls from him. “Gonna sit on your couch,” Louis pouts. “Me bum still smarts.”

Louis is able to catch his smirk right before he beelines toward the kitchen. He rolls his eyes, biting down an equally satisfied smile. The pain is a good one, a nice reminder as much as the bruise is on Harry’s back. He’s unable see it anymore, unfortunately, since Harry decided to put on a shirt. 

“I’ll rub it some more after we eat,” Harry promises. Louis is going to hold him to that promise. Will climb on his lap face down if has to. 

He starts studying Harry’s apartment, something he was unable to do when they tumbled inside with their lips attached. It’s a lot cleaner than his, more spacious. There are more useless knick knacks, though, but Louis can appreciate that. Even finds it endearing. 

He picks up an ugly ceramic bowl filled with rings, chunky and heavy in his hands. Louis tries all of them on because he can, searching for one that fits. None of them do. Then he sees a picture of Harry, with who Louis assumes is his mum, and nicks the frame for a closer look. “I can make tea if you want me to,” he calls out.

“I actually don’t have tea,” Harry calls back. Louis can smell sausages, his stomach growling in response. “Finished it all. Do you have some?”

“Outrageous,” Louis comments, setting the frame in the exact place it was before. “Should have some in my flat. I’ll go get it.”

“It’s fine, Lou. I’ll get it,” Harry says, coming out into the living room. “Do you have the keys?”

“Shit,” Louis curses, eyes widening. He checks his pockets even if the sweatpants on his legs belong to Harry. “No, I don’t.”

They aren’t in the trousers he wore last night, either.

“We’ll call the landlord if we have to,” Harry says as they trek down the hall to his flat. 

“She’s going to be so pissed.” Louis tries the handle. Locked. Doesn’t know whether to feel grateful or annoyed about that. 

Half asleep, Zayn opens the door, mumbling, “Shh.”

Louis feels relief hit him instantly as Zayn goes back to sleep on the couch, cuddling on top of Liam. Louis has never felt more love for the two of them, always looking out for him. “That was close.”

“That’s a lot of dick.” The decorations are still exactly where Louis left them, hanging up proudly. Some handmade, some store-bought. Louis grins as Harry examines everything with amusement. “I don’t think I’ve seen this many at once.”

“Shame,” Louis says as he tiptoes around some trash to his cabinet stocked full of tea, taking out two boxes. 

“Have you?” Harry questions as he crowds Louis, chin hooking over his shoulder. 

“You’ll just have to date me and find out,” he voices airily.

“Okay, baby,” Harry murmurs, smile pressing into his neck. “Wanna go on a date with me?”

 

Liam and Zayn poke fun at them after rudely interrupting their first night in at Louis’ flat, hands full of bad alcohol and takeout. A tradition they invented to include Louis. He forgot to cancel this particular time, so he forgives them. 

“What is it?” He asks Harry, handing him a bottle of brightly colored liquid. 

“Wine?” Harry frowns. Louis twists the bottle in Harry’s hand to read the label, prompting Harry to pop the cap and hold the bottle out. He appreciates the flavor, but isn’t all that thirsty after sharing a glass with Harry. His lips are stained red, tempting Louis to kiss him. He would have if they didn’t have guests. 

“Good. Try it,” he suggests, digging his perfectly warm feet under Harry’s thighs. 

“Ugh,” Liam gags as he steals the remote from Louis’ table. “You’ve been dating for one week. How are you so annoying already?”

“All of that pent up sexual tension was bound to resolve itself sometime, Li.” Zayn takes the bottle after Louis puts it down.

“It did,” Harry answers vaguely, closing his hand around Louis’ ankle and sneaking him a smile.

Liam frowns suspiciously, catching the moment Harry and Louis share a knowing look. Ultimately his own fault, prying when he should keep to himself. “You… Did you fuck at my birthday party? Is that why you were gone for the rest of the night, Louis?” He accuses. 

Harry pinches his lip, sparring Liam’ feelings with, “No, of course not.”

“Yes,” Louis admits with a careless shrug. Zayn bursts into laughter. 

“Louis.” Harry squeezes his ankle meaningfully. Louis wiggles his toes.

“Alright,” Louis sighs exasperatedly. “No, technically, we didn’t.”

“Technically? I don’t trust either of you.” Liam points his plastic fork at them, eyes narrowed to slits.

Everything is mostly quiet, just the sound of a movie droning on in the background, and then, “I got a birthday spanking and it wasn’t even my birthday, Liam. What did you get?”

Liam looks at him, absolutely done. 

 

Louis makes a mistake in telling Harry he has no idea how to drive. 

“Aren’t vintage cars really expensive?” Louis huffs. The wide lot in front of him is daunting. He can always go back on his decision, knows Harry would be okay with that. “Honestly, I’m fine taking the tube. Prefer it, really.” 

“Yes, they are,” Harry admits, wincing when Louis whines. “Don’t think about that. I trust you.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks quietly; he needs the reassurance. 

“Baby, of course I do.” 

“I don’t want to hit your car,” Louis says, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. While he has been in a car before, every switch, button, and gear suddenly seems so foreign. Harry had to explain to him, twice, what lever is used to signal and which one is used to turn on the windshield wipers.

“There are no cars or walls. It’s an empty lot, Lou,” Harry laughs. A loose curl falls into his face from the movement of his shoulders, so Louis pushes it back in place. “The worst you can do is hit that very weak chain fence. All the way over there. Which you won’t, I’m right here.”

“Okay.” Louis places his hand over the gear shift. He requests, “Give me a kiss, please.” 

Harry cups Louis’ and licks into his mouth, leaving him breathless and a little turned on. Louis pushes him away so he can turn on the car, the engine sounding more aggressive than he remembers when Harry picked him up for their date. 

“Can you turn on the radio?” Louis asks, stalling for time. Nerves kicking in. “Actually, no, can you play something on your phone?”

“Sure, baby,” he says, hooking up his phone to the aux. Moving too fast. “Ready to go?”

“No,” Louis answers truthfully, but presses his foot down on the accelerator either way. The car refuses to move. 

Harry holds back a laugh. “It’s still in park. Put your foot down on the brake and then shift to drive.”

“It’s too hard, I give up,” Louis moans, searching for the knob to recline the seat back. He spreads his legs, lifting his shirt over his tummy innocuously. “Come fuck me instead.”

Louis can see Harry visibly swallow and restrain himself from climbing on top of him, eyes going a little dark. “If you practice a little today, we can go back to mine and celebrate.” 

“It better be good,” Louis says as he stares up at the roof of the car. Eventually righting the seat back into position and putting on his belt. 

He gets the gist of how to move the car, slowly but surely. Brakes far too many times, however. “Am I doing okay?” Louis asks, knowing he’s doing poorly.

“You’re doing great,” Harry praises, so Louis is going to assume, from now on, he’s doing alright for his first time. Harry places a hand on his thigh. “Try turning.” 

“You know, if you want me to be totally focused, you have to stop distracting me,” Louis breathes, turning the car inch by inch, going about five miles per hour.

“Drivers have to deal with distractions all the time,” Harry says, but retracts.

Louis rolls his eyes. If Louis wanted to roleplay with Harry, he would have put on a skirt and bent over the bed for another spanking. Way more thrilling. 

“Shut up, an adult is driving,” Louis says, narrowly avoiding a pothole. He brakes the car and turn to Harry with a wide smile. “Saw that? I’m a pro.”

“Wicked skills,” Harry teases with a tender smile. Equally as proud of him.

 

“Baby, can you braid my hair?” Harry asks after it dries from his shower. “I want it to look decent for tonight.” 

Not really paying attention to the movie playing, he agrees. He’s already watched _Princess Diaries_ , but Harry hasn’t; Louis is making him. 

“Is it long enough?” He asks curiously. 

“I don’t know, but I have hair ties. We can try,” Harry suggests. Louis goes to his room already vaguely knowing where everything is and finds them strewn across the surface of his drawer. While he’s in there, he steals another hoodie. He’s currently holding three hostage, the one he put on just now not included. 

“Want to go in or out?” Louis swings the hair tie in his hands, sitting on the edge of the couch. Harry leans back between the spread of Louis’ legs, deliberating. Louis learned how to braid hair from having five sisters and a little brother. Told Harry about them, who was more than keen to meet the youngest two. Compared to his one sister, who is older than him, he rarely got to spend time with kids. 

“Of you? Have to do both, obviously.” Harry jokes, smirking. Louis can’t see, but his tone of voice is enough for him to know that he is. 

“So it goes in, please. Make sure it’s tight” he laughs at his own joke, the idiot. 

“Oh, it’ll be plenty tight,” Louis says, just to pull another laugh from him. 

The braid takes some time, mostly because Harry wants to keep turning to steal glimpses of the screen. He has to restart various times, but by the end, has a decent braid tied halfway. His hair cut too short in the back. 

“Is it done?” Harry asks, reaching up to touch. 

Louis grabs his hand before he can accidentally knock off the hair tie. “Done,” he chirps.

“Thanks, baby. I should really start getting ready,” Harry says, reluctantly standing while Louis sinks into the corner of the couch, tucks his hands into the pocket of his hoodie to stop himself from clinging. 

Saturday has slowly become their day for lazing around together, but Harry has a meeting with a new employee. Something about contracts and making her feel welcome. Louis understands, has been in the middle of that process himself.

“Watch something else,” he calls from his room. “I want to see the ending.”

“I’ll tell you what happens,” Louis replies. Harry rushes back in in a pair of unzipped, black slacks. Which, how unfair. Louis can see his bulge all too well in white briefs. 

“Don’t,” Harry warns playfully. 

“Sounds like too much work.” Louis fetches his laptop from his backpack while Harry pauses the movie. Might as well get a headstart on a lecture.

Some twenty minutes later, Harry is decked out in a full suit. Shirt tucked in, most of his buttons done up, just the skin of his chest peeking through temptingly. Slacks high on his waist, Louis noticies. Starts to feel bothered admiring the view. 

“Baby, I have to go,” Harry announces. “I’ll be back soon.”

Louis marches up to him and pulls him down by the lapels for a kiss. “You look good. Impress your new colleague for me.”

“Just one?” He mutters before he grabs him by the bum, kissing and biting at his lips all the while. 

“Out,” Louis whispers. “Otherwise, you’ll never leave.”

 

Discovering that his presence in Harry’s flat without him is a recipe for Louis to get moody, he traipses down the hall back to his. He’s proud to say he finishes the lecture and even plans an assignment all on his own. 

As a reward, Louis prepares a bath. 

Slips on a white, fluffy robe after undressing because he bought one on a whim and needs to use it. He rifles throw his shelf for a bath bomb and pops it into the tub, watches it fizzle and melt into the water. There are no candles to light, so Louis notes to buy some at the store. 

He waits delicately on the edge of the sink with one leg crossed over the other until the tub is full. Louis flings the robe aside and dips one foot after the other in carefully, closes his eyes as the silky water envelopes his body. 

He finds himself relaxing far too much, cock perking up under the water. Ignores that low thrum of desire as he diverts his thoughts elsewhere. 

Spending a healthy amount of time inside, the water slowly grows cold around him as he finishes washing his hair and scrubbing himself clean. He comes out with the scent of roses on his skin. 

Checking his phone after he tumbles into bed, sans clothes and hair still wet, Louis sees a notification from Harry waiting for him on his lock screen. _Might be back late! Dinner is going really well_. Two hearts attached at the end. Louis reads it with a soft smile.

_have fun_ Louis responds and attaches a pair of red lips at the end. He absently grabs his body pillow and throws his leg over it like he would if it were Harry. 

It gets late.

And his cock shifts from soft to half hard, pushing Louis to search in his dresser for one of his two dildos. Pink and decently sized to get him off quick. He grabs their bottle of lube and gets comfortable, starts teasing himself open. A poor attempt to loosen up, but Harry isn’t here, is he, so he can move this along at whatever pace he pleases.

Now that his thoughts have drifted back to Harry, he starts to picture Harry holding him down, palm spread across the back of his neck. Or eating him out. Holds back a whimper and pulls his fingers free to coat the dildo in a generous amount of lube. 

Silicone tip flush against his rim, he presses the dildo inside inch by inch. It feels good. Not nearly as good as the real thing. Louis can deal. He can. The angle is awkward but he manages to work the dildo back and forth, fucking himself, cock twitching whenever he thinks about what he must look like, what he looks like to Harry, spread out on his back and drooling for something thick inside him. 

He comes close to orgasming once, pinches the head like Harry taught him in order to draw it out. His hand cramps as he keeps going, teeth biting his pillow. 

“You weren’t at mine,” Harry murmurs, startling Louis, hand stilling at the base of the dildo. He was _far_ too into it to have heard him entering. “Thought I’d check to see if you were here. Used the key you gave me.”

He begins to take off his clothes while Louis keeps using the dildo, leaning up on one elbow to watch him strip. “Have to thank me for that later, won’t you?” 

“Why can’t I thank you now, baby?” Harry says, one knee on the bed. Louis eyes his hard cock, takes a deep breath and meets Harry’s eyes. “Hands behind your back.”

Louis immediately locks his fingers behind his back, shivering expectantly. Harry gravitates toward him, between the spread of his thighs, thumbing the skin stretched around the dildo before he drags it out tortuously slow. Louis’ knee draws up on instinct, a pitiful moan tumbling past his lips.

He sees the moment Harry’s gaze moves to the body pillow to his right. He uses his strength to manhandle Louis on top of it, much to Louis’ confusion. “I use this to sleep,” he breathes, but the pressure on his cock tells a different story. 

“I want to see you get off on it.”

“What?” Louis croaks. 

“Are you feeling shy?” Harry prods. 

Louis grits his teeth and moves his hips, cock brushing against the soft fabric. Harry’s heavy and observant presence on top of him making his cock leak profusely. 

“Like this?” Louis hisses. 

“Yeah, baby,” Harry encourages, hand on his back skimming to his ass, thumb hooking into his hole. Louis humps down desperately, longing for friction on both sides. 

Rubbing the pillow continuously makes frustration bubble up inside him, though, tears springing to his eyes as he tips away from the edge. 

He feels Harry spread his cheeks then, hot shame pooling in his stomach when he spits, tongue licking over his hole. Louis hides his face in the pillow, squirming when he feels the rough stubble on Harry’s chin scrape against the sensitive skin. 

“No, no. Want your cock,” he whines, reaching back to pull a handful of his hair, Harry moaning in response, flicking his tongue out for one final taste. 

Harry shifts behind Louis to reach in his drawer for a condom and finally teases the tip of his cock against his hole. Louis arches his back as Harry thrusts his cock in. He mewls at the fat intrusion, filling up his hole and rendering him pliant. “You feel so good, baby,” Harry groans into his ear, grasping his hand, intertwining their fingers. 

Louis squeezes his hand weakly, gasping, “Please.”

Harry fucks him hard and deep, hips pressed flush against his ass. It always feels like he’s going to tear Louis apart, put him back together if he has to. Louis is going to let him. He peppers earnest, open-mouthed kisses over his shoulder blades, so light Louis gets the urge to sob again. 

“I want to see you, baby. Can’t like this,” he pants, pulling out and turning him over. Louis blinks away the film of tears over his eyes and clings to him, Harry holding him just as tight as he plunges back in, changing the angle so his cock hits the spot in him that makes him clench tight. 

“Kiss me,” he begs. Harry’s eyes are filled with lust, so he complies, kissing Louis hungrily. 

Louis comes like that. A wet, needy cry on his lips and Harry’s dick shoved all the way in. Fingernails scratching across his back and shuddering through his orgasm. Harry continues to drag his cock inside and out, using his hole. 

“Christ, you’re so beautiful,” Harry moans, thrusts slow and meaningful.

Louis touches his hip, traces the hair leading down to his cock with deft fingers and lifts his knees to his chest to coax Harry into coming, exposing the stretch of his hole, sore and red from being fucked good. 

“Baby,” he chokes out at the sight, releasing a long and satisfied groan, cock throbbing as he pumps thick ropes of come. 

He stays inside, just for a bit, and only pulls out when Louis blinks tiredly. Throws the condom in the bin, nestling close to Louis’ side, heat radiating from his skin.

Louis gets comfortable being held, ignoring the mess on his hips, knows Harry will clean them up when he finds the energy to walk more than five feet. “I just took a bath. Now I’m going to smell like sex.”

Harry nods. “I take full responsibility.”

 

“You know,” Louis ponders aloud, “I really want to throw another party. A Halloween one. Gonna dress up slutty and have a mandatory slutty dress code.”

“Am I invited?” Harry asks, leaning over him. 

Louis pretends to mull it over. Harry lays on top of him when he takes too long to answer, making Louis giggle. “Okay, okay. You’re definitely invited. First, official invitee. Happy?”

“Very,” Harry murmurs affectionately. 

Louis just might have to keep him. After all that effort he put into having him, he has to.


End file.
